Shades of Gray
by Running Up Fawn
Summary: "If in the morning you look up // Fake a smile and you sigh // ...When do we begin?" (J/S)


Title: Shades of Gray

Author: Lauren / Running Up Fawn

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I own..nothing. Samantha, Jack, and Marie belong to CBS, Steinberg and Bruckheimer; I'm just playing with them J. The summary is an excerpt from Guster's "Mona Lisa", so thanks for the lyrics, Guster.

Author's Note: So much love to Maple Street, which is without a doubt the most awesome forum in the history of ever.

***

"_And this apartment is starving for an argument_

 _Anything at all to break the silence.."_

[Dashboard Confessional - Saints & Sailors]

***

If he had been able to feel, the bleak gray of their kitchen would have left him with a dull, heavy ache, the kind that clings, squeezes, and slowly crushes; an ache as suffocating and formidable as the silence that surrounded, enveloped, and finally, became them. 

An ache as harsh and unforgiving as the cold morning gray that seeped in through the window, resonated off the countertop and walls, smirked, danced and taunted with its sharp, unrelenting tedium.

An ache that ultimately wasn't a problem, because it just wasn't there.

Jack had long ago perfected the art of feigning fascination with his coffee cup, stubbornly avoiding acknowledgement of the haunting absence of feeling, sound, and color, ignoring the negative space around him. 

He preferred the coffee anyway; the mug was white and the liquid was black and the stark contrast was strangely satisfying. 

Marie's eyes used to be black, he recalled. Black, fiery, passionate, full of life. Now, though, as he stood stiffly next to her in their kitchen, a room utterly devoid of feeling, he could see that the black had faded, faded to a frigid, steel gray. Her eyes matched the room, and he was sure his did as well.

The passion was gone. He'd accepted that a long time ago, had even been looking forward to settling into a comfortable, if predictable, routine, to coming home to ease and familiarity and a woman who was his best friend as well as his wife.

Passion faded, but not into comfort. At first, it gave way to anger, and arguments seemed to plague their every conversation; heated, vehement, and full of emotion. Arguments about anything..most were fights for the sake of fighting. Eventually, though, anger dissolved along with passion, taking with it color and feeling as well, and leaving them with this gray shell of a room, a room that perfectly mirrored the emptiness that was their current relationship. 

As much as Jack had loathed their arguments, had dreaded even stepping through the door at the end of the day for fear of what he would hear, or worse, what he would say, he would have given almost anything to have those arguments back, and along with them the fuel of energy and desire. But energy and desire had deserted them both, disappearing into the gray.

The heavy, weighted silence spoke volumes; they were together but alone, and tired of trying.

His final effort was a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, barely even skimming her chilled skin, before he walked out of the gray emptiness and into an overcast, cloudy morning. 

In the hazy, dim lighting, the band around his finger that used to shine gold was nothing more than a circle of gray.

There was nothing gray about her. If Jack had learned one thing during his years in the FBI, it was that nothing was ever as black and white as it seemed. There were shades of gray in everything; every agent, every hostage, every criminal. Somehow, though, she avoided the gray. Black and white and gold and silver, intricate and complex, but never, ever gray. 

From his office, he could see her standing in front of the whiteboard, could see the concentration etched on her delicate features as she studied their current timeline. The room was quiet for the moment, and she seemed to be taking full advantage of the brief respite, making a few notes and scanning the board a final time before turning back to her cubicle. As she did, her eyes lifted to meet his, and he could feel his cheeks warm with slight embarrassment. More importantly, though, as she offered a soft, slightly amused smile, he could _feel_, feel a kind of gentle, insistent warmth infiltrate the emptiness he'd carried with him since leaving the hollow, gray kitchen. A subtle filling of the vacuity inside, and he longed to stay this way. Longed to just let go and allow her light, her color, her radiance, everything she was and he wasn't, to save him from the gray.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as close as possible as he memorized the feel of her soft, damp hair on his chest and neck, learned the steady rhythm of her breathing, reveled in the sensation of her smooth leg thrown over his, smiled slightly as she shifted and repositioned her head on his shoulder, responding to his movement by tightening her hold on his midsection. There was something equally possessive and innocent about the action, and, like everything else about her, it struck a chord deep inside him. 

He was grateful for the darkness, and for her warm weight on top of him; both offered simple comfort and allowed him, for the moment, to forget that he was terrified.

Terrified of what he was doing to the woman curled around him, her relaxed face a mixture of such complete trust and beauty; trust and beauty he was so afraid of destroying, because she'd allowed him inside, peeled away the intricate layers she used as protection, looked into his eyes and gave him...everything. He wasn't worthy of such a gift and he knew it, but he accepted anyway, because he wasn't strong enough to resist something so precious and fragile. 

Terrified, because this woman was not Marie, and yet she was the one he couldn't imagine his life without.

Terrified at the realization of the effect his actions would have on his family, on the woman he had devoted himself to and on the two beautiful girls they had brought together into the world.

Terrified, because the thought of these consequences wasn't enough for him to do anything more than hold Samantha Spade tighter and simply lose himself in her.

Most of all, though, he was terrified at the thought of a return; a return to the hollow, empty, cold place inside of him that she had filled with color and life and beauty.

Terrified of a return to the gray.


End file.
